


Familiarity

by Cryptix23



Category: The Shadow (Pulp)
Genre: Light Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, semi graphic description of a dessert, third-party intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptix23/pseuds/Cryptix23
Summary: After 'Zemba', Monsieur Robeq has some important observations to share with The Shadow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After reading #91: Zemba I was very concerned about Harry's mental state and needed to write something.
> 
> Also briefly references #71: The Plot Master

Hardly had Harry and Cliff left their cab in front of the Hotel Princesse before a second cab screeched to the curb behind them. From it alighted the tall, tuxedo-clad figure that they had, until that very hour, identified as Herbert Balliol and -- more importantly -- as The Shadow.

"Gentlemen!" Etienne Robeq called after them. He no longer pretended at Balliol's English accent.

The agents paused and half-turned. Neither matched his smile.

Unperturbed, Robeq said, "I am glad I caught you. You are welcome to the suite for another day, it is paid through. That is the least I can do to make up for my subterfuge. I only ask that you pass a final message to your master, if you can, that Etienne Robeq desires a word with him before you leave Paris."

"That can be arranged," spoke a voice from behind Robeq. He whirled. Both he and the agents stared at the figure that stepped into the light.

Somehow, in the brief period between leaving the Palais and now, The Shadow had shed all signs of Zemba. His calm face now corresponded to no specific identity, but there was no mistaking the keen glitter of his eyes or the hawkishness of his profile.

He gestured with a left hand from which a fire opal glowed like a live ember. Robeq followed the silent instruction. He fell into step beside The Shadow. Tall and slender, impeccably tuxedoed, the two of them bore a superficial similarity; but there was a catlike smoothness to the way The Shadow moved that even the celebrated Robeq couldn't match.

The lights of the Princesse were well behind them before The Shadow broke the silence. "Does this matter concern Gaspard Zemba?" He spoke in fluent French, and Robeq responded in kind.

"No. It concerns one of your men."

The Shadow's sharp gaze pierced him. His voice carried a steely edge to match. Robeq nearly flinched.

"How so?"

"They're in no danger," Robeq quickly assured. "I simply want to discuss Harry Vincent."

The unsettling gaze left him. "I already know everything concerning Harry Vincent."

"Then you are aware the boy is in love with you?"

If Robeq had expected a reaction, he was due for disappointment. The Shadow did not miss a beat when he replied, "He thinks he is in love with me."

"What is the difference?"

"Love requires familiarity. I will protect my agents to the fullness of my power, and do what is needed to ensure their absolute trust in me, but I am not familiar with them. He knows little more about me than you do, now."

Robeq nodded thoughtfully. "In that case, I misspoke. My apologies. The boy _wants_ to be in love with you." The Shadow did not reply, so Robeq continued. "It is clearer to me, now, why he looked at me the way he did -- when he thought I was you. I admit I began to feel jealous. You should have seen--"

"He is fascinated by an idea," The Shadow interrupted. "It will pass in time."

"Given enough time, all things do," Robeq acknowledged. "Even love cannot follow into the grave."

A streetlight up ahead flickered.

"Emotional entanglements are messy and unstable. I would not willingly jeopardize my best agent for anything so puerile."

Robeq laughed. Again The Shadow's eyes bored into him, intense and inscrutable. Again the streetlight flickered.

"Something funny?"

"Yes. You. An interesting contrast -- you are willing to risk his life, but not his heart, when he would gladly trust you with both and more. But you know that -- you are, as you said, _familiar_ with everything concerning Harry Vincent. Perhaps it is not for his sake that you worry?"

The Shadow stopped walking. The faulty streetlight gave out. Sudden gloom nearly swallowed him whole, all but an indistinct silhouette and eyes that burned like twin stars through the darkness.

"There is much you do not understand about the situation."

It took every ounce of Robeq's willpower not to shudder. "I am sure there is. I would not seek to interfere in such a private matter -- I would not even mention it, you understand, except that I think I may have given the poor boy a little false hope by my deception."

"And this is your attempt to minimize the harm?" The Shadow asked coolly.

Robeq shrugged. "I suppose it is." He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. "I must get back to the Palais. I left Monsieur le Prefet rather suddenly in order to catch you. One last thing only. You don't ask for my advice--"

"I don't."

"--But I will give it anyway," Robeq persisted. "I cannot tell you how to feel, but Vincent, he is a good man, and he is devoted to you. Speak to him. He deserves that much. If nothing else, grant his hopes the mercy of a quick death. Ah, but it is a tragedy, to say such things in a city of such romance..."

"Are you finished?"

"I am. Farewell, Monsieur L'Ombre. Until our paths might cross again."

"Goodbye, Monsieur Robeq."

Bright eyes watched Robeq depart. The streetlight flickered back to life. Even without the enshrouding darkness, The Shadow's expression was unreadable. 

* * *

In a fifth-floor suite of the Hotel Princesse, Cliff and Harry set about packing their trunks. Whether they were staying only one night more or two, they mutually agreed they would need but little, and it was always advisable to be ready to move out on short notice.

While they gathered their things, Cliff cast glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Finally, after an uncomfortable minute, he ventured to break the silence. "Robeq must've took a hell of a run-out to get here right on our heels."

"Must have," Harry responded. Cliff was surprised by the hollowness in his voice.

He tried again. "Do you think something happened after we left the palace?"

"Maybe."

Cliff didn't understand it. Normally, after a mission like this, Harry would be excited, downright voluble as he theorized on what they missed and how The Shadow must have pulled it off. This case especially was still rife with mystery. Harry should have been chattering ceaselessly. It was occasionally annoying, but Cliff would take that any day over this dead air.

One more try. Cliff forced a chuckle. "Say, that was a hell of a change the chief pulled off on the way here, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

Cliff winced. Down to one mechanical syllable -- and over one of The Shadow's skills, a subject Harry was usually impossible to shut up about. Cliff let the silence simmer for a time while he mulled it over.

Softly, he said, "It wasn't your fault, you know." He didn't wait for a response. "Falling for Robeq's ruse, I mean, and following him instead of the chief. I know you noticed inconsistencies, but that doesn't make you responsible for not figuring it out. If the chief had wanted to end it he could've done it at any time. We're both in the clear."

A beat followed after he finished, then, "I know, Cliff." That was all. Cliff took the hint. They finished packing in silence.

Buying into Robeq's ruse was only a minor factor in Harry's melancholy. That they may have inadvertently upset The Shadow's plans certainly bothered him, but that was a concern whenever he did anything that wasn't strictly according to orders. That alone wasn't enough to drive him so deeply into his own thoughts.

What was eating him up inside was just how badly he'd wanted the lie to be real. Riding in a cab with The Shadow, working alongside him, being able to watch him in action, even just being complimented over an independent plan -- it had all felt so special.

Now, knowing that none of it was The Shadow at all, Harry had realized just how pathetically little it took to make him happy -- and worse, that the real Shadow would never even go that far.

He should have known better.

He had the awful feeling that he was going to break down crying sometime that night, when the weight of his own miserable foolishness finally crashed down on him. For the moment, he just felt numb.

The phone rang. Seeing that Harry was undressing for bed -- and hardly even seemed to register the ringing -- Cliff answered it. He went stock-still the moment he heard the caller's voice. Harry only noticed when Cliff spoke. "Instructions received." A moment later, the phone was being handed to Harry.

It didn't matter how many times he heard The Shadow's whisper, the first sound of that grave hiss still ignited his nerves. Harry listened tensely. He repeated an address, then, "Instructions received." The line clicked. Harry put the handset down slowly.

Cliff watched him, equal parts curious and concerned. "I'm guessing you didn't get your time to yourself. I'm free to leave for home tomorrow or the day after."

Harry shook his head. "I'm--" He paused, found his voice, and started again. "I'm to take a cab to that address and then walk from there toward the river. That's all I know."

"I'll wait up."

"No, you don't--"

"Harry."

Harry sighed as he finished re-dressing. He managed to offer Cliff a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Cliff."

Cliff smiled back. "Hey -- maybe it's something good. Backup for routing one last caveau." He made a broad gesture as if to indicate the myriad other examples that were escaping him.

"Maybe." Harry didn't sound hopeful.

* * *

Harry found the place he had been directed to with little trouble. It was simply a riverside pier. Naturally, at that time of night, it was poorly populated. At first glance it looked wholly deserted. The single humanlike figure, tall and thin and perfectly immobile before the barrier, seemed to be a trick of the dim lighting reflecting off the river. Harry knew better.

He had no doubt that The Shadow heard his approach. His footsteps on the wooden pier seemed to pound in his own ears. Still the figure ahead showed not even a waver. Harry felt himself tensing up more with every step. When he was within two yards, he had to stop. He didn't dare speak.

The perfect stillness broke into easy motion, as though the scene were a movie that had simply been paused on a single frame. The Shadow spread his arms. One hand rested on the railing. The other, the left hand, beckoned. The flash of the girasol soothed Harry's nerves enough to break his paralysis. He closed the distance until he stood at his master's left hand.

The Shadow turned his bright eyes on Harry. "Report."

Harry recalled the same order being given earlier that night, and again felt the sting of his own stupidity. This time he understood. With his eyes downcast, Harry began his report, starting from the time he and Cliff arrived in Paris.

He spoke automatically, only pausing to collect his thoughts, or when his voice wavered as he spoke of 'Balliol'. He made no excuses. As much as Cliff had tried to reassure him, Harry couldn't help but to shoulder the blame for their following Robeq. He never said the words, but the implication was throughout: _He should have known better._

Once Harry's report reached the Palais de Vraillard, he fell silent. He waited for... what? Admonishment? No, The Shadow didn't reprimand, any more than he praised. His disappointment had to be inferred as much as his satisfaction. Harry had gotten very good at inferring from his master's silences.

"Have you eaten?"

Whatever Harry had been waiting for, that wasn't it. He blinked. "What?"

The Shadow calmly repeated his question.

The second time, it clicked. Even having just told of Cliff winning the dinner coin-toss and their heading for the Palais as soon as he returned, Harry had already forgotten that he hadn't had dinner. Food was the furthest thing from his mind. He shook his head.

The lithe figure beside him moved away from the railing. "Come."

Harry could only follow. 

* * *

The cab ride that followed was a surreal experience.

For the second time in as many hours, Harry Vincent was riding in a taxi beside The Shadow. Except it wasn't the second time, it was the first, and this time the experience wasn't shared with Cliff.

The steady, profiled features were there, but they were distinctly hawk-like now, and the eyes glittered even in the gloom. (Harry couldn't look at those features without wondering how he had ever mistaken Robeq for The Shadow. The pretended Balliol couldn't hold a candle to his true master.)

Long, slender hands remained folded atop one knee, the left hand uppermost. The girasol caught the slightest passing light and threw it back as sparks of blue and red and purple. Harry had to keep looking at it. For all its strange properties, that magnificent fire opal seemed the only thing that was beyond a shadow of a doubt _real_. Only The Shadow wore that token. No imposter could hope to even come close to matching it. Harry couldn't trust his own senses, but he could trust in the ever-shifting colors of that stone.

Still, he kept expecting to see Cliff at the other window, or to catch a glimpse of blue-tinted spectacles, or to simply wake up. The confidence that he had felt before, riding into danger beside the false Shadow, was nowhere to be found. Bewilderment made for a poor substitute.

His first realization that the cab had stopped was when firm hands gripped his upper arms and drew him to his feet. The grip remained on one arm, and Harry welcomed its steadying influence, both physically and in its familiarity. He let himself be led into a warmly-lit building, a small restaurant, and to a table set into a curtained-off niche. With the heavy curtains drawn, he was once again alone in a small space with--

\--with The Shadow. The real Shadow. The Shadow, seated across from him, a slight smile fixed on his thin lips. With his left hand he slid a menu across the table.

"You'll feel better after you've eaten."

The hand remained on the tabletop, the girasol ever in view, as if he knew that Harry was grounding himself with it. (Of course he knew. The Shadow always knew.) Harry opened the menu without really seeing it.

Harry couldn't recall later what he ordered. He vaguely recalled savory spices and something heavy and filling. The Shadow, however, ordered coffee and a dessert, and that part Harry remembered vividly. A small, round panna cotta in a bright red sauce, decorated with sugared berries and shavings of dark chocolate. It occurred to Harry that he had never seen The Shadow eat. Even in that action his neatness and precision put normal people to shame. Harry's self-consciousness was not helped by the distinct feeling that The Shadow was watching him in turn, even though his gaze was always diverted when Harry darted glances at him.

(Actually, Harry _had_ seen The Shadow eat, but this was the first time he did so _knowing_ it was The Shadow. The connection between his occasional friend Lamont Cranston and his employer had escaped him, for the moment.)

Afterward, sipping at a coffee that The Shadow ordered for him, Harry had to admit he did feel better. The situation was still unprecedented, but his mind was no longer whirling, and he didn't have to look at the girasol quite as often to reaffirm his handle on reality.

"Monsieur Robeq went out of his way to speak with me tonight." The Shadow's tone was calm, but Harry still stiffened at the first syllable. "What is your opinion of Robeq?"

Harry pursed his lips. "Monsieur Robeq seems to be a competent detective."

"I asked your opinion of Robeq, not your assessment of his skills." A note of amusement softened any bite the comment might have had.

Harry took a sip while he tried to find the right words to convey his feelings towards the imposter.

"I dislike him."

His answer was met with a whispered laugh that raised gooseflesh on his arms. "Indeed. And before the revelation in the palace?"

Harry hesitated. He stared at the tabletop. "I thought he was you."

"Comparatively, then."

The wood grain didn't line up perfectly where the pieces had been attached. Harry's eyes followed lines that abruptly stopped and picked up in just slightly the wrong place. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, tried again and again failed. What was he supposed to say?

The familiar glimmer of the girasol flashed at the edge of his vision, breaking in on his reverie. The Shadow's left hand was urging his mug toward the tabletop. Harry realized his hands were trembling. He set the mug down.

"That was an unfair question," The Shadow said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I apologize. Monsieur Robeq worried his impersonation may have done you harm. Clearly his concerns were not unfounded." He considered for a moment. "You preferred Robeq's Balliol--" Harry opened his mouth to protest. "--in certain ways, for certain actions. Enough that it was crushing to discover the actions were not mine."

Harry closed his mouth.

"That distresses you. You're torn between your loyalty to who I am and your desire for me to be otherwise. To be more as Robeq portrayed me."

Harry couldn't bring himself to nod. Confirmation seemed unnecessary, anyway. The Shadow knew.

Another contemplative silence.

"Robeq is of the opinion that you are in love with me."

Harry's hands curled into white-knuckled fists; he felt the blood drain out of his face and heard his heartbeat pound in his ears. He stared across the table with wide, panic-stricken eyes. The Shadow wasn't looking at him. He was turned to the side; those bright eyes were fixed on the heavy curtain defending their privacy. He continued as though he hadn't noticed Harry's reaction.

"Should he be right, it is only natural you should have felt encouraged by indications of a more open and demonstrative attitude. You have worked closely with me in the past -- even attended me while injured -- but there have always been certain limitations to our interactions. Nevertheless, it is not unthinkable that I might relax those limitations, particularly in this new setting. Finding that I had not would, naturally, be disappointing. Doubly so if Robeq's conclusion is correct."

Harry slowly unclenched as he listened to The Shadow's measured voice. Relief at the lack of reproach or judgment was quickly supplanted by confusion, and then realization. The Shadow was very deliberately not noticing Harry's responses, very deliberately remaining vague, very deliberately emphasizing the _if_. He was giving Harry a chance to deny it. In the midst of his reassurances, he had left Harry an opening to shoot down Robeq's 'opinion' and end the conversation there.

Harry's mouth was dry. He took a sip of coffee.

The Shadow continued. "If he is correct, I must point out that a closer relationship would be highly inadvisable. The limitations I place on my dealings are not flexible. You had a demonstration of that tonight; you have had clearer demonstrations in the past. My relationships are limited by necessity. The more you -- or anyone -- might know about me, the more danger there is, for myself and for others. Lives would be jeopardized. It is not an environment conducive to... familiarity."

At length The Shadow fell silent. His left hand flexed long fingers against the tabletop. He still didn't look at Harry. The way out was still on the table, if Harry wanted it.

A closer relationship would be inadvisable, dangerous, limited, difficult... but not out of the question.

"May I speak frankly?" Harry surprised himself with his steadiness.

"Of course."

Harry took a deep breath. His nerve would break if he looked up, he knew it would, so instead he spoke toward his coffee mug. "I swore my life to you. I've never regretted it. Robeq is right. I am in love with you. I consider myself--" He blushed and soldiered on. "I consider myself yours, body and soul. What that entails I've left to you. If-- if we can never have anything more than we do now, I can accept that. As long as you're a part of my life, I'll be happy." He licked his dry lips. "But I did hope-- I have hoped. With Robeq, that hope felt... a little more within reach."

Moments stretched agonizingly long between them. Harry still didn't dare look up. His heart hammered.

Finally, The Shadow spoke, low and softer than Harry had ever heard. "It's impossible for me to give you anything like a normal relationship. You know that."

Harry had tried to keep his hopes from rising too high, but still they had a long way to plummet, and they carried his heart down on the way. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I understand."

"Do you?"

Too much significance in those two little words. Harry looked up, finally, to find The Shadow watching him. His eyes flashed as they met Harry's.

_Oh._

A hesitant smile began to brighten Harry's face.

"I understand," he repeated. This time, he did.

A nod. "Think this over. Not just now, tonight, but in the days to come. I can't make you any promises for the future. I can't promise much more than I give you now. All that I can promise is that this will not be easy. As much as..."

The thought hung unfinished. A soft sigh hissed from The Shadow's lips. He placed his hand over Harry's, lacing their fingers together. The girasol glinted from between Harry's fingers. He stared at it in wonder. The Shadow considered their hands as well before he spoke again.

"I allotted five days to catching Zemba. That leaves tomorrow free. I should like to spend it with you."

Harry broke into a laugh that was half joy and half relief. Grinning, not trusting his voice, he nodded eagerly.

The whispered chuckle that responded was all pleasure.

* * *

Harry was light-headed but steady as they left the restaurant; nevertheless, The Shadow's hand lingered on his back, conducting him as far as the open door of a cab.

"Get some sleep," The Shadow ordered. "I will meet you in the lobby of the Princesse in the morning. Remember, think seriously on what I have said."

He watched as the cab pulled away, smiled slightly as he saw Harry looking back. When intervening traffic broke the line of vision, he took the opportunity to slip into darkness. The smile faded. For once, his eyes betrayed uncertainty.  Alley walls echoed back an apprehensive laugh.

He'd just agreed to change everything with the most important person in his life. He couldn't pretend that his own selfish desires had nothing to do with it.

All he could hope was that he wasn't about to ruin it all.


End file.
